


In all the Roadhouses in all the world

by Diabolo_girl



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Supernatural
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No beta we die like mne, Post-War, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diabolo_girl/pseuds/Diabolo_girl
Summary: It's been three years since they last saw each other and they might not be friends. But once upon a time they were comrades in arms, and after all this time, that still means something.Marco, now working as a hunter, goes into Harvelles Roadhouse, where Rachel works as a bartender while trying to find herself.
Kudos: 4





	In all the Roadhouses in all the world

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. English is not my native language, so be prepared for a lot of spelling errors and bad grammar. Written while sleep deprived, and I'm really unhappy with the ending, so I will probably re- write it. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate if you have any feedback.

In all the Roadhouses in all the world, he had to walk in to this one. This roadhouse, were she worked for three years trying to find a place in the world, trying to find herself, not the fearless warrior, not as a weapon but as Rachel, the girl who lived. Taking out Tom had been a suicide mission and she had been prepared to die for the cause, but also so Jake did not have to kill his own brother, to spare him his last part of innocence. Instead she woke up in a field surrounded by dead plants and trees, like an atomic blast had occurred around her. She was disoriented and sore, but she was alive. Looming over her, like a socially inept accountant stood a dark-haired man, dressed in a tan trench coat. Blue eyes looking at her intently. Without introducing himself he had told her that he had griped her tightly and raised her from the dead and that he did not agree with the decision but that a higher power had ordered him to do so, because she was never meant to fight to begin with and because of that, the higher powers had plans for her. And then he was gone, without giving her a chance to even ask his name.  
She did not try to find her way back to the fight. She could still moprh and except for a burn-mark shaped like a hand print all her wounds were healed.

If she was anyone else, she would try to hide or at least look busy. Instead she slings the bar rag over her shoulder and leans on the counter, waiting for him to come to her. It has been three years since they last saw each other but as soon as he looks up Marco seams to recognize her, just as she recognized him as soon as he walked into the bar. Like war veterans feeling the air shift when they encounter someone who shares their story. His hair is longer, and he is dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, just like every other guy in the place. Just like every other guy that walks into the Roadhouse he is on edge, alert about his surroundings even though he tries to not let it show. But Rachel knows him, and even after all this time she still recognize the false bravado, the swagger and the tense shoulders.

She gestures at a table in the back of the bar and brings two beers with her as she sits down in front of him. Arms crossed over her chest, a defiant look in her eyes. It’s been years since they saw each other and even when they spent every day together as soldiers they never were close. Too much alike, too dangerous and too scared to see themselves in the other person. 

They sit in silence for a while. To the outside world, she thinks, they look at ease. Two old friends sharing a couple of beers, it’s a usual sight in the Roadhouse. But that’s just for show. They asses each other. Mirroring poses, shoulders tensing. If he makes the wrong move she is ready to strike, she might not be able to morph in the bar but she has no qualms about beating the shit out of him in front of all these people. 

Before any of them can make a move Rachel feel a steady hand squeezing her shoulder. She can see Marco tense even more as Ellen leans down between them.  
"Now listen you two, I do not want any trouble in my bar, not even from you Rachel. So either one of you start talking or this little meeting is over, and don’t forget I have a shotgun behind the bar" With her message delivered Ellen continues her walk through the bar, picking up empty glasses as she goes. And for a minute Rachel feels stupid. Of course, Ellen knew something was wrong, you could never fool her. But she is stubborn and after a beat Marco starts talking. "We won." It sounds hollow, but before she can open her mouth he continues, soldiers on. Not like he wants to talk but like he needs to, no matter how much it hurts them both. And maybe, she can’t help to think, he wants it to hurt. They might have been just kids but she remembers him being just as sadomasochistic as her, they just didn’t have a name for it back then. "Ax went home, didn’t think twice about it, and Cassie went with him. Doing some fancy ass space diplomacy thing, it suits her, playing peacekeeper in space, she was always too good for this planet. Tobias disappeared, last time I saw him he was a bird, don’t think he ever changed back to human. I became famous, got my own TV show and all." He pauses & Rachel realizes it’s his vanity waiting for her to acknowledge that he is famous, that she’s seen his show. But she will never let his vanity win so she just raises an eyebrow silently urging him to continue while letting him know that she is not impressed.  
A shadow of uncertainty flickers in his eyes as he drains his beer seeming to collect his thoughts. "I was famous, had everything I wanted, and I was happy" For the first time he looks her straight in the eyes holding her gaze as he steadily proclaims. "I was happy". And she finds herself nodding. Of course, he was happy. Being noticed, being adored by thousands of people would be Marcos version of heaven. 

When he continues his voice is lower, almost as he talks to himself, fingers idly drawing patterns on the tables wet surface. "Then the nightmares started. Horrible Dreams about creatures ripping people apart. Buildings on fire. Bright light making people explode. I tried everything but it just got worse. I stopped sleeping. And then the voices started, first like whispers but after a while screaming all at once. So, I drank to drown them out. And one night I awoke from a bender, not remembering anything from the month before. But it was quiet, for the first time in a year the voices were gone. And you are not going to believe this, but before me stood a guy in a trench coat, scowling at me and looking like he had a stick up his ass. He told me he was disappointed, that I should have gotten the message by now, that I was never meant to live this life. Before I could kick his ass he told me that if I wanted the voices and nightmares to go away I needed to follow the plan. Leave the fame and the mansion. He told me that my dreams were true but that I could help people, that it was my duty to kill these monsters. At first I did not believe him. He disappeared and the nightmares were worse than ever. Three days later I had sold everything and was on the road. That was six months ago and I have not had a single voice in my head since then.” Taking a deep breath after talking for so long, Marco looks at her, searching her face trying to predict her response. But she is not the same girl who fought beside him, so he draws a blank. 

Instead of answering, she rises from the chair and heads back to the bar. When she reaches down to the beer fridge her eyes unintentionally go to the mirror behind the bar. Ever since she came back to life Rachel has avoided mirrors, scared of what se will see. Scared to see if the bloodlust she still feels bubbling against her skin is visible for people to see. Staring back at her is a young woman, tired blue eyes with shallow bags under them. Sleep does not come easy to her and most nights Rachel is awake, not afraid of facing the nightmares but that someone will hear her cry, will try to comfort her. Instead she spends most nights in her room above the Roadhouse, staring out the window. Ellen keeps giving her strange looks, but never confronted Rachel about the bottles missing from the Roadhouse inventory. Instead she keeps suggesting that Rachel should join Jo for a hunt, even suggesting they go all three, leaving Ash in charge of the bar. Rachel keeps turning her down and Ellen tells her that it’s ok to be scared and that both Ellen and Jo will have her back, because that’s what family do. 

But Rachel isn’t afraid of hunting, no she is afraid of Ellen and Jo finding out how good she is at killing, how much she likes it, how everyday she is itching for a fight. Would they still call her family if they saw the monster lurking inside of her?

When she returns to the table Marco has his laptop open, pictures of what looks like a werewolf attack taking up most of the screen. The computer looks expensive, as does the hunter’s journal open on the table. Rachel tries to read what he’s written, but the chicken scratch is so illegible she wonders if it’s on purpose, with how paranoid Marco is, it would not surprise her. Instead she sits down and hands him a beer, putting two shot glasses of whiskey on the table. One for each of them, but if Marco doesn’t drink whiskey, she will happily down his too. As it turns out, Marco do drink Whiskey and Rachel has to admit, in some ways, he fits into the hunter community. 

The silence is not amicable, they have Too much history between them for that, too many ghosts. But at least it’s not as tense as it was before.  
“I died” she wants to say. “I died and a man in a trench coat bought me back, but I don’t know how to function without the war” she doesn’t say. Instead she askes him about the hunt, letting them both pretend that he is just another hunter.


End file.
